His Darkest Hour
by UndecidedAsOfYet
Summary: When John Watson entered the TARDIS at precisely 11.43am, he was not expecting to be greeted by a bow tie-wearing alien, a feisty Scottish beauty and… a nurse. Nor was he expecting to get so sucked into the Doctor's world. But he certainly wasn't expecting to fond out all the dark secrets that shrouded the enigmatic Sherlock Holmes. AU Wholock - my first fanfic so a review maybe?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: **Set pre-Reichenbach Fall and pre-Angels Take Manhattan.

**Disclaimer: **Much as I'd like to, I sadly don't own Doctor Who or Sherlock or any of their characters - both are owned by the BBC. Or Steven Moffat. Or something. Obviously I'm not making any money from this - its just for fun. The original storyline is my own, as are any other characters.

"Well that was… unexpected."

The Doctor glanced up from the two wires he was attempting to cross to see two newcomers to the TARDIS. Straightening his bow tie, he examined them, his serious hazel-green eyes appraising them. The first was short (certainly far shorter than his companion), with greying hair swept off his forehead and to the side. He had the sturdy stance of a soldier, the Doctor noticed, but the kind eyes of a doctor. He was staring openmouthed at his surroundings, trying to process the sheer volume of information trying to force its way into his brain from every direction.

The second newcomer was almost the exact opposite of his counterpart. He stood tall, feet placed firmly at almost exactly shoulder-width apart, his long black coat flapping in the wind from the open door. His unruly mop of black curls was in stark contrast to his ivory skin, his cheekbones prominent and defined. He stared with cold, unblinking eyes at the Doctor, taking in his bow tie, tweed jacket, braces and boots in one swift glance. The Doctor laughed, and going over to the second stranger, he threw his arm around him. He would recognise that face anywhere; after all, Sherlock Holmes wasn't someone you could easily forget.

"Sherlock, me old mucker! How are things at 221b?" The Doctor patted Sherlock on the shoulder before swiftly retracting his arm and turning to the dimly lit staircase behind him. "Amy, Rory, stick the kettle on. We have guests," he announced proudly, turning back to the two men. "And you must be doctor John Watson, I presume? I've heard a lot about you."

"Er, that's me," John said, a little wary of the overenthusiastic Doctor. "And you are?"

"The Doctor, at your service," he said, holding out a hand. "On second thoughts, 'at your service' seems a tad formal. I'm the Doctor, here to… oh, where is it?" The Doctor began rummaging in his pocket, while John and Sherlock looked on, amused. "I was sure it was in her somewhere." The Doctor removed a yo-yo, a packet of jelly babies, a pair of miniature pliers and a scale replica of the Flying Dutchman before finding what he was looking for. "Ah, here it is. The Doctor, here to help," he said, reading off the small enamel badge laying on his palm. He pinned it onto his jacket and smiled at John, who looked more alarmed than ever.

"Pleased to meet you." John held his hand out and the Doctor pumped it up and down enthusiastically. Sherlock had talked about John a lot last time they met; indeed, there had been little else to do.

"Do excuse me, but I had better go and see what has happened to our tea. Even if Rory has managed to pour it without burning himself in the process, I guarantee they won't bring the jammie dodgers." With that, the Doctor skipped up the dark staircase behind him, leaving a very confused John in his wake.

"How do you know him exactly?" John turned to where he assumed Sherlock was still standing; in fact, he had stalked over to the controls and was tweaking knobs and dials, his eyes lit up like a child's at Christmas.

"Transcendental dimensions. But how? That goes against all laws of physics. But perhaps…" Sherlock had resumed his infernal muttering to himself, and John took the opportunity to let out a sigh. He certainly hadn't bet on this when he left 221b this morning. It was certainly a lot to take in in all of fifteen and a half minutes.

His thoughts were interrupted by the return of the Doctor, followed by two other people. They were both carrying trays, piled high with teapots and jammie dodgers. The first was female, with fiery red hair and a fiercely defensive look in her eyes. She stood close to the Doctor, as if trying to protect him from the newcomers. Her chocolate brown eyes darted between the two, trying to work out the connection between them.

She stepped to the side and allowed the third member of the Doctor's party to come into view. He moved forward, unsure, the tray in his hands a little less than steady. He had brown hair, styled into a slight quiff (a look which suited him, John noted) and calm blue-green eyes, which resembled the colour of the ocean on a sunny day. He looked as if he wanted to stand in front of the female stranger and protect her, though she seemed more than capable of doing so herself.

John tried to think like Sherlock, attempting to deduce something from his first impressions of them. He glanced down at their hands and caught sight of wedding rings; he thought as much as soon as he saw the look in the male stranger's eyes. He noticed how she seemed to be the dominant figure, while he tended to stand back and let her make the decisions; or at least, so their body language would suggest.

"Well, this is Amy and Rory," said the Doctor eagerly, taking their trays from them and nudging them forward. They both stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to say or do.

The Doctor sighed, placing the trays carefully down on a handy side-table he erected shortly before John and Sherlock's arrival, and joined them, prodding and poking until there was room for him between the two.

"Dear me, we are an unfriendly bunch, aren't we? Well, if we aren't going to be civil and drink tea, I feel we should probably set off. Allons-y! Hang on, that sounds familiar…"

"But… you knew we were coming?" John looked and sounded completely baffled.

"Well not exactly," said the Doctor, examining John again. "But I need your help."

"But… how do you know it's us you need?"

"My, my, we are stubborn, aren't we? There's one thing you should know. All things happen for a reason. You walked into my TARDIS today, at precisely 11.43am for a reason. And it seems that reason is to help us. So, if you have no further questions, then I suggest we - oh Sherlock, do stop fiddling with the control panel. We have work to do."


	2. Chapter 2

The Doctor set to work flicking switches and pulling levers on the control panel, whilst Amy and Rory made their guests comfortable (mainly John, as Sherlock appeared to be absorbed in examining the interior workings of the TARDIS, and took no notice of the proffered tea and jammie dodgers). John glanced over at his friend, who was currently attempting to cross the two wires that the Doctor had been fiddling with earlier. He had always wondered what went on in Sherlock's brain; probably a complicated web of snippets of information, linked to countless others.  
"Sherlock, don't fiddle with those," the Doctor scolded, whipping the ends out of Sherlock's hands and crossing them himself. A spark leapt from the two wires and was suspended in the air, illuminating the faces of the Doctor and Sherlock for a minute before extinguishing itself. Sherlock stepped back. It wasn't that he was alarmed at the Doctor's proximity, as any other person would be; rather, he had stalked over to another section of the control panel and was pressing buttons almost absentmindedly, still trying to understand the principle of transcendental dimensions.

"So you do this all day, every day?" John couldn't imagine a life more different to his own at 221b.

"Yeah," Amy said, pouring yet more tea into his teacup and steadying herself on the table as the TARDIS lurched violently to the left. John grabbed the teacup and saucer just before they hit the floor, and both he and Amy restored order on the table when the TARDIS had stopped shaking so violently. Amy produced a box of tissues and wiped the table down, removing any stray jammie dodger crumbs and soaking up the spilt drops of tea.

"You get used to it," Amy said over her shoulder as she walked gracefully in the direction of the stairs she had descended not ten minutes ago, despite the haphazard motion of the TARDIS. "Takes a while though."

"Well yes, we are gadding about with a madman with a box!" Rory had finally plucked up the courage to join in the conversation.

"Hey, that's my line!" Amy rejoined the others and jokingly thumped Rory on the arm. As she turned away, Rory rubbed the spot she had hit and grimaced, but Amy noticed, and returned with a flourish to "kiss it better" as she put it. John laughed; he could remember being that romantic, when he was younger and freer, not weighed down by the memories of things that had yet to happen to him. There wasn't really room for romance at 221b now, though; he and Sherlock were too busy with their cases.

"Oh, sorry," Amy said, moving away from Rory and going over to John.

"Didn't mean to make you feel weird, or anything…"

"No no." John waved away their concerns, and retrieved his cup of tea from the table, which had drifted slightly out of reach, with the movement of the TARDIS. "I'm fine. I was just thinking. Remembering what it was like to be young and in love."

"You're still young, silly," Amy said, patting him on the shoulder. John almost blushed at the comment.

"Thank you, but my time has passed. I think I'm better suited to napping in the sun than anything else now." He smiled widely at the young couple, the laughter lines at the edge of his eyes marking the long, happy days of his youth.

"Well now it's time for a new era to begin for you - an era of napping in the sunshine, and of cups of tea, and of reading the paper at the breakfast table. That's not so bad, is it?" Amy patted John on the shoulder, and he sighed deeply.

"If only. No, Sherlock doesn't leave room in our busy schedule for a nice sit down, or a cup of tea and a biscuit. I wouldn't say he approves of biscuits, to be honest." John smiled ruefully up at Amy and Rory. "Just make sure your Doctor makes room for a little lie down every now and then, you two. It takes its toll, spending your whole life running. And there's certainly a lot of running in Sherlock's company."

"Oh, believe me, you don't know the meaning of running until you spend a while with the Doctor in the TARDIS. Not that I'm complaining, mind," Rory added, rubbing his arm self consciously.

"Oh come off it, you _hate _all the running! You always complain that you have the body of a nurse, not a long-distance runner!" Amy laughed and ruffled Rory's hair, much to his annoyance.

"Do not," he replied petulantly, the image of the child that Amy had made him out to be.

"Do too," Amy responded.

"Do not."

"Do too!"

"Do n-"

"Now, now." John stepped between the two, cutting off any further protestations from Rory. "Where were we?"

Before Amy could reply, the TARDIS shuddered and wheezed, and a harsh grating sound filled the ears of the travellers. The Doctor immediately ceased fiddling about on the underside of the console, and began flicking switches and pulling levers manically, leaping around the console like the madman he was, thought John. Sherlock leapt up and hurried after the Doctor, watching him carefully and studying the complex pattern of switches and buttons pressed.

"Ah." Rory grabbed the back of Amy's shirt and spun her round. Both disappeared into one of the darkened doorways leading off the TARDIS walkway, and John was left alone at the table, his tea sitting forgotten on the right hand side.

A shrill, angry-sounding bell began to ring somewhere in the depths of the TARDIS, only adding to the pandemonium. John automatically glanced to Sherlock for the answers to his many questions, but the consulting detective was too busy watching the Doctor to notice. Instead, John addressed his question to the TARDIS.

"What's happening?" The TARDIS, however, remained silent, as police boxes tend to do. "Anyone?"

"I _think_," the Doctor yelled over the din, "I _think _we might be crashing."


End file.
